


i dreamt of magpies

by saaifione



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: (i have weird feels), (wind back the clock), Alternate Ending, Brother Feels, Gen, Nursery Rhymes, Post-Movie (mostly), Timeline Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saaifione/pseuds/saaifione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(it is like losing something you never really had)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i dreamt of magpies

. one for sorrow

 

"My lord?"

Thor starts, realizing that he has been staring at his hand for the past five minutes. Or not his hand, but the apple that is resting in it. His thumb has worn an impression into the surface of the fruit, has bruised the golden skin and spilled sticky juices across his palm.

He glances to the market girl, staring up at him with uncertain eyes. Her lower lip is caught under the curve of her teeth, a sprinkle of freckles cresting over her nose. For a moment he sees her as someone else, an image overlaid without care to match the edges, and has to shake the phantom from his eyes.

"My lord?" she repeats, softly.

They all seem to look at him like that, these days, mouths caught between wavering half-smiles and overly concerned frowns. The worst offenders are congregated in the palace, though, which is why Thor is out in the marketplace instead.

"These look delicious," Thor declares with a sweeping gesture, complimenting the girl on her wares. They are nothing like Idunn's, of course, though it would hardly be fair to make the comparison. She and her family must put their passion into tending to their groves- the apples are lovely, truly, but he cannot feel his heart in the words, so he smiles as if to make up for it. "I will take eight."

It is a good effort, for the girl returns the smile thrice-fold, mouth splitting wide and her freckles spreading like millet. She presents him with a basket of her freshest looking fruit, a demure tilt of her head as he accepts. He counts out seven, picking them carefully for their roundness and their color. The last one he palms, his ruined one, to place on top of the rest.

He will go to the Bifrost today, Thor decides. Perhaps to line the apples along the shatter edges. Perhaps to throw them to the Void. They have always been Loki's favorite, and seven is an auspicious number.

The last one, he'll keep for himself.

 

 

. two for joy

 

It is the first time he has gone out adventuring without his brother by his side, and though their quest had been a violent and overall satisfying feat, Thor is restless upon his seat. His steed nickers shortly as if in disagreement, so Thor amends: it is not the first time he has been adventuring without his brother. It has simply been a long while since the last.

In truth, he'd been out adventuring some handful of decades before their parents had even let Loki go traveling afield, and though it had chaffed to think that his parents didn't trust him with Loki's safety, it had brought a special kind of satisfaction to regale his brother with the tales.

Not that Loki would admit to liking them, when Thor came back dusty and dirty and covered with specks of blood, kicking in Loki's door and tracking filth upon his sheets. Loki would huff and pretend annoyance at the interruption, but his eyes would peek over the top of his book as Thor spun his tales, shining with envy and untampered curiosity.

Yet it was better to have lived the adventures together.

Easier, too. A shrouding fog would have helped on this particular venture, Thor thinks. Maybe a crater to trap the troll ten meters underfoot. It had been a creature with entirely too much stamina and too little creativity to be any fun in battle, and skipping it would have cut their time down by half. 

As it is he peers back to see the Warriors Three lagging behind on their steeds, two voices grumbling with discontent that the third echoing in a particularly disgruntled silence. They have gotten the worst of the troll's clubbing, and Fandral is nursing a bruise on his cheek that will leave the barmaids distraught for days. Sif simply rolls her eyes and kicks her horse to canter up to Thor, armor battered but back straight with thrumming irritation.

"Perhaps we should simply leave them behind," she suggests, a shade too flatly to be entirely jesting. "At the rate we're riding, the troll will have woken and caught up to us long before we're halfway to Asgard. ...Though I'd almost choose going another two rounds with the creature over listening to these three's whining a moment longer."

Thor laughs, glancing back at the trio of bedraggled warriors. "They only require a little motivation-" at which Volstagg murmurs they'll need a whole lot more than that, perhaps three platefuls of encouragement, each. Hogun grunts something which almost sounds like agreement.

"A race!" Thor declares, and Sif smirks at the challenge, eyes lighting as if partaking in an inside joke. They snap their reins in sync, horses nickering as they clip a cloud of dust. It takes a moment for the Warriors Three to register before they do the same.

"I say - I call foul!" Fandral shouts, waving his unbruised arm haphazardly through the air, but Thor merely laughs. 

"To Asgard!" he shouts, letting his voice carry back, and urges his horse to run faster. He misses his brother, and he has many stories to tell.

 

 

. three for a girl

 

He keeps it a secret, at first. It's just a passing thing, a fancy, but he finds himself thinking of the maiden often.

He tries to put the feeling into words, to come up with an eloquent explanation. He wants to write her a letter, or a poem. It is her eyes, likely, which draw him to her. Her eyes- her eyes. They _dance_ , they are like dewdrops glimmering in the sun, like- like- memories he never knew he'd forgotten, like-

Thor flushes, just thinking the words in his head. They are too gaudy. Too cheap. He has no the particular skill with words, as his brother does. He is better with actions, but in this instance he does not think that actions will be enough, without the proper words to explain them.

He would ask the Warriors Three for advice, but Fandral is the only one with any talents with the ladies, for all that Volstagg must have the knowledge for being married to one. And if he were to ask he is sure the entire court will have heard of it by next noon. They'll think him a child, with a boyish crush, and he has yet to be allowed to go on the type of quests that would silence them. Loki, at least, will keep the teasing between themselves. Or he is fairly certain Loki will.

He is a strange creature, his brother. Would rather keep to himself than associate with their peers. Thor has tried cajoling him out onto adventures but Loki has only ever stared at him for long moments before pointedly saying no. Others call it arrogance, but Thor thinks it is... well, he is not certain, truly, what it is, only that he does not care for the distance it puts between them. Sometime he fears they have grown too distant. Sometimes he fears they have never truly been close at all.

He does not understand his brother, not truly. But if he asks, Thor assures himself, Loki will help. He cannot say _how_ exactly- Loki may equally tease him or encourage him or compose the entire letter himself. If it is the last option the contents will surely have the maiden laughing in his face. Yet she'll offer him her hand to kiss or some other gesture which will have him in Loki's debt, though it'll leave him wondering why Loki couldn't skip all the mischief and humiliation on Thor's behalf.

But he would not be Loki without his tricks, would not be Thor's brother without his generosity.

 

 

. four for a boy

 

"What _is_ that thing?" Thor asks, arms folded to his chest, not quite recoiling because that would be ridiculous. It is a _tiny_ thing, and he will not be cowed by it.

"It is your brother," his mother says, and pauses. "He. He is your brother."

It fits strangely in his mother's arms, this bundled thing, makes her curl her arms around it awkwardly, holding it too loosely and too tightly in turn. The thing shifts inside the swaddle of blankets, a tiny hand emerging from the depths. His mother catches the hand and cradles it to her breast.

Thor peers into the blankets, catching a glimpse of overly bright eyes, and frowns. It is strange and foreign and he doesn't like it at all. He declares as such, firmly.

"You will grow to love him in time," his mother murmurs.

But he doesn't think he will.

 

 

. five for silver

 

"Do you think," Thor wonders aloud, tapping the quill to his temple, "that she will enjoy having her eyes compared to evergreens?" For a long moment he doesn't get a reply, not that he was truly expecting one. It is simply that he has no clue how to proceed.

Perhaps he'll go sit by the Bifrost today, Thor muses. It always seems to help him think.

But he is interrupted from this thoughts by gentle laughter.

"If you fancy the lady you should simply tell her."

"Mother!" Thor exclaims, voice rising due to surprise and scandalization. He had been expecting someone else - maybe. Though there is no one else who would so blithely enter the quarters of the crown prince. Even Odin could not manage it with quite the same social grace.

Thor hunches over the parchment, trying to shield it from his mother's eyes, but Frigga merely quirks a brow, her robes swirling gently as she enters his doorway.

"You'll have to try harder than that," she smiles wryly, "to hide the evidence of all your drafts."

Thor flushes, pawing at the scattered sheets and crushing them into balls. The crumple loudly in his hands, half-dried ink leaving incriminating stains on his fingers. His mother has the mercy to let him get rid of the evidence, standing calmly with her hands clasped in front of her, before speaking once again. 

"You should not worry overly much, in the wording of your letter. Sincere affections are far more effective than any combination of pretty words."

Frigga smiles, a secret tucked into the corner of her mouth, as if reminiscing about a particularly fond memory. "Though pretty words do help."

Thor grimaces. He's heard the tales of his mother's courtship, and the ballads his father used to write her. The old generals liked to pull him aside when he was younger and share their stories, and though Thor had been proud to be in their confidence, there were some stories he'd rather not hear. Those were his _parents_ , and hadn't wanted to think they were once young. Or worse, capable of flirting.

"I am not trying for pretty words, so much as intelligible ones," Thor says, because Frigga has that expression which does not so much _ask_ him to be completely honest with her, as command it.

At times he wishes he were not an only child, to be so constantly under her gaze, with no one to properly commiserate with. 

"It is worse than setting rabbit snares, trying to fit these emotions into words!"

"Ah," Frigga smiles, fondly, a strange tone weaving itself into her voice. "You have so much of your father in you." She rests a hand upon his cheek. When she says it she sounds proud, yet her smile is a sad thing.

Thor shifts awkwardly but leans into the touch. He is never certain how to act when she gets that look in her eyes, remembering and envisioning all the same. 

There was another child, Thor knows, though he cannot remember it, for it had died before its first summer. It's an old wound that his mother holds close to her heart, and he wonders how much is from memory and how much is from prophecy.

He might of liked a brother, though Thor honestly cannot say. It would have been different. It might have been worse.

You are your father's son, Thor has heard from the old generals, many times, and each time it'd filled him with pride. You are your father's son. But maybe that child would have been his mother's.

 

 

. six for gold

 

Mjolnir hums in his hands and he hums back, spinning her in slow circles. The entire palace is bustling with preparation, the cooks readying the platters of fruits and meats and the servants preparing the throne room for his coronation. There is nothing for Thor to do but pace around his room, where he will not be in the way.

He could train, but Sif has been the only one willing to spar with him since last week, and even she is growing tired of dodging his frenetic strikes.

He could attend counsel meetings, but lately they've only been rehashing the same old topics- a drought in the southern farmlands, though he doesn't know what they expect to do about that without drawing another region's rains. They grow only apples there, in any case, and Idunn's groves are always enough to spread throughout the land. It is _good_ that they've no more pressing matters to discuss, but it is also incredibly _boring_.

He could go on a quest, but his subconscious has developed a voice that is difficult to ignore. It would be irresponsible, it says, to leave so close to the ceremony. He is to be crowned in a fortnight.

But a quest would be good. A hunt for a treasure. It is nerves, likely, but Thor feels like he is missing something. (He wants to a good king, after all- a childhood declaration. To be the best that he could be.)

But if only, he thinks. If only. 

If he only had-

-more time is not the answer. He has been waiting his entire life for this. But perhaps he'd be willing to wait a little longer.

This tightness in his chest, this absence- he does not want to call it doubt. But he doesn't know what else it could be.

 

 

. seven for a secret never to be told

 

"My lord?"

Thor glances up, pulled suddenly from his thoughts. The market place, he had finally decided. There was nothing he could do in the palace besides get in the way, and it wouldn't do to for the people to have a king they didn't even know. The reasoning is slightly faulty, as most everyone knows him already and he is certain he has conversed with most of the citizens at least once. But he does not quite recognize the girl who has called out to him.

There is an apple in his hand, though he doesn't remember picking it up.

"If you worry at that apple any longer, you will cause it to bruise."

"Oh- I apologize," Thor smiles guiltily, moving to place the apple back upon the cart, but the girl catches his hand and curls it tighter around the fruit.

"Nerves fit you ill," the girl declares, and he wonders how he ever thought her meek, before he wonders when he ever thought that at all. She doesn't let go of his hand and he shifts uncomfortably, not quite sure what to do with her forwardness. Her hand is small and smooth over his own, an expanse of pale and cooling skin. She stares down at his hand for a long moment.

"Are you happy, my lord?" the girl finally asks, in an entirely different tone of voice.

"Of course," he laughs, "why would I not be?" And he is not sure if his laughter rings false.

"Ah," murmurs the girl, letting her hands fall from his. She smiles a trickster smile, and he marvels at the color of her eyes. "Then all must be good with the world."

Thor wants to ask her something, but she flicks her eyes away, and the question dies on his lips before he can voice it.

He buys seven apples that day, for no reason in particular.

**Author's Note:**

> (eight for a wish / nine for a kiss / ten for a bird that you won't want to miss)
> 
> So, this turned out a lot happier than I thought it would. (Which might be saying something.) Oops?


End file.
